#the base condominium

[thailand-tourist-places]

The Base Central Pattaya

Welcome to The Base Central Pattaya Our recent stay at The Base Central Pattaya was fantastic! From the moment. Situated right in the heart of Pattaya, The Base Central condo Pattaya offers unbeatable convenience, making it a breeze to explore the city’s attractions, shops, and restaurants. Furthermore, as attested by the base Pattaya reviews, guests consistently praise the property’s central…

[caramelcleopatraa]

COGNAC QUEEN

word count: 1.9k

x: @heauxvibez asked someone to write something based off of Cognac Queen by Megan Thee Stallion (amazing song rec, I recommend you go stream the song) not proofread

content: 18+ mdni, Roman x Semeni (OC), dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), cuddle fuck, a lil bitta fluff at the end

I'm lookin' paid and pretty (yeah)

Hair hanging down to my back, huh

I put it on him last night (woo!)

He calling me back to back, hey (hey)

Semeni sat with her legs crossed in the spacious, dazzling condominium. The big window panels showcasing the beautiful city lights. While these two were in their own little world. Far from the public eye. 

Her neon hot pink dress adorned with long ruffles perfectly outlined her figure. His eyes stayed on her plump lips as she sipped the amber drink from her glass. Relishing in the savory taste and enjoying the atmosphere he set.

Drop me a pin where you at (at)

I'm gonna come 'round like a 'Lac (like a 'Lac)

I get in my 'Gac on that 'Gac ('Gac on that 'Gac)

He call me Megan the Mack (Megan the Mack)

“You okay? You’re a little quiet.” Roman sits next to her, filling the empty space like a puzzle piece and putting the bottle on the gray coffee table. “I’m fine, I'm just watching you.” Semeni was never shy when it came to how she felt about him. They weren't in a serious relationship, but they spent their free time with each other. They never assigned a label to their relationship. They were just friends, who took each other out to expensive restaurants, spoiled each other, and fuck occasionally. Nothing special. 

He raises his eyebrow in amusement and motions to himself in an up and down motion. “You been looking at all of this, huh?” She takes one final sip from her glass, emptying it and placing it on the small coffee table. Roman observes her movements slyly, watching her beautiful eyes blink as she sits the glass on the table, watching her body rise as she takes a deep breath. She was mesmerizing.

“Yeah I have, and I want all of it,” Semeni says, placing her hands on his chest, feeling him up through his black polo shirt. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter shut from the feeling of her hands on his body. “I love feeling your hands on my chest,” he says softly. “I know you do, but I know you want my hands somewhere else.” 

He looks at her brown, gentle eyes and says, “So put ‘em there.”

—-------------------------

“Damn baby, that feels so good.” His black dress trousers were rolled down to his thighs, leaning back on the expansive gray couch with his arms laying on either side of him. Meanwhile, Semeni is kneeling in front of him, between his thick legs, stroking his dick at a medium pace. 

“You feel good baby?” His small whimpers and heavy breaths contrasted his tough exterior.

“F-fuckk baby, stay right there on the tip.”

A thick wad of spit drips from her lips, landing on his sensitive mushroom tip. Her hands cup the tip, fastly bobbing her hand on his tip. God did he go wild. His head tilted back, letting the pleasure take over him.

“Y’wanna cum?” He pants and nods furiously, clutching onto the big couch cushions to stop himself from bucking his hips into her hand. “You know I wanna fuckin’ cum.” His head stays tilted back. He knew not to look in her eyes. If he did, then it was over for him. “Look at me, Roman,” she says, using her unoccupied hand to rub up and down his thigh. He laughs to himself at her request, knowing that she is trying to set him up. “I know what you’re trying to do, sweetheart.” She pouts to herself, surprised that he didn’t fall for her usual tactics. ‘Okay, let’s try again’ 

“Please look at me, daddy. I wanna see your eyes when you cum.” He lets out a deep throaty moan, still clutching onto the couch cushions. Her voice, her words, her hands, how good she was making him feel. Doing all of the right things to make him crazy. Which is why he can never get enough of her. And probably why he was looking into her captivating eyes now. Frozen and still, but somehow on fire. “There we go daddy, look me in my eyes when you cum,” She purrs, shifting from side to side, ignoring the overflowing pool of wetness forming in her shorts. 

She stuck out her tongue and held him at the base, tapping him against her tongue, but going back to his tip once again. There were no more passive grunts and groans, only melodic moans that filled their ears. Her eyes locked on his, as she put her hands behind her back, using her tongue to lick the underside of his dick before taking him in his mouth. “Oh shit~ I'm coming. Ohh fuckk-” His fingers weaved through Semeni’s brown hair, jerking his hips into her mouth. She moaned around his cock every time he met the back of her throat, swallowing every drop he gave her without complaint. “Damn, girl,” he pants out, taking his hand out of her hair. She tightens her lips around him, sucking him up one more time before she’s done. She wears a lopsided smirk on her face, watching him catch his breath. Pride surged through her. “My mouth felt that good, huh?” Roman lays down against the couch, shifting and positioning himself so that he is comfortable. “Need to take a nap big bo- “Get your ass up here and sit on my face.”

He know I only wanna

Come over put it on him

I got that woah-na-na-na

He drink that shit like water

She anchored herself by tightly grasping the dark gray couch. Singing out delicious moans. Letting him hungrily lick her up into oblivion. Staring into empty space as her eyes crossed numerous times, but focussing hard enough to see his wavy black hair spread out beneath her. Feeling his hands dig into her thighs, working his mouth in ways that make her cry out in pleasure. 

Now it was her time to become undone.

“Oooh- shit~ i’m close,” She pants, prompting to lick long bold stripes along her pussy, and sucking on her clit for a quick second. And he repeats. Creating a ferocious, unescapable cycle.

Her keens of pleasure and needy whining didn’t fall on deaf ears, only encouraging him to keep going. Humming into her pussy like he took the first bite of a delicious meal. She could feel her legs shaking against his face, despite the burly hands and arms wrapped around her legs to keep her in place. “Fuck- i’m finna cum on your face, daddy,” she says slurred, with flushed cheeks and half open eyes. Just as she finished her sentence, like clockwork, she came all over his face. Softly bucking her hips against his tongue, riding out the enormous wave with his tongue as her surfboard. Now she herself was covered in a thin sheet of sweat, breathing heavy on top of him. But she couldn’t get up, his arms were still wrapped around her thighs. “At least let me clean you up before fucking you into the mattress.”

Fall in love would be dangerous (yeah)

Fuck you like I've been dranking (uh)

Cognac on my blankets (yeah)

Real bitches don't fake it, ay, ay

They had ventured into almost every room in the condo. The living room, the game room, the balcony, and now the bedroom. Finding new positions in each room. Thank god there weren't many people that lived in the same building, he hated hearing her restrained and muffled moans under his hand. They laid in the bed, cuddling in the sheets, but nowhere near done. 

Her leg rested atom his hips, her arms wrapped around his neck, while he hid in the crook of hers. Placing those delicate kisses along her neck while pounding into her. She could barely see the other buildings out of the large windows on the balcony doors due to her blurry vision. But those distant buildings were her last thought. Her mind was clouded with the person who was holding her tight between the silk sheets.

Not a word had been said since they laid down in the bed, which was unusual for the two. But considering how needy they were, words didn't need to be said. They had been around each other long enough, tangled in one another long enough to know how each other feels. His low eyes as he tilted his head back and his faster paced thrusts. and her mouth agape, eyes rolled to the back of her head. Feeling the overwhelming waves of pleasure together as they nestled closer. Their chests rising and falling against each other, their heart beats loud as bass drums at highschool pep rallies. Yeah, nothing special.

You look good, you look good to me

Give me hug, it feel good to me

Hold me up, you too good to me

Cut 'em off, I know you would for me

Semeni opened one of the gray drawers, pulling out overnight clothes she had left the last time she stayed over. You know.. Just in case for situations like this. The bathroom had been hot and humid due to a long shower they took. But of course it wasn't just a shower, because he could never keep his hands to himself.

“You damn well live here by now,” He said, shirtless with loose gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and leaning on the door frame. “You say that like you’re so bothered with that.” She approaches him, her neck cranked to look up at him. “Nah, not bothered. I'm just surprised that you took over one of my drawers.”

“Is that a problem, Roman?” She knew that they were both playing, but there was a tinge of seriousness in her tone. “No, you know you’re welcome to treat this place as your own.” She turns her back to him and smiles, looking back at the drawer filled with her clothes. 

“You tell that to all of your other hoes?”

“You think I would have other women over here when you have a whole drawer to yourself?” She shrugs her shoulders and sits on the bed, pulling the comforter over her smooth legs. “Maybe I should be askin’ you that question.” She scoffs. “​​There’s no man you gotta worry about, cause I'm focused on the man in front of me.” She said the last part to herself. Not realizing that she may have said that a little louder than she intended to. Roman was intrigued to say the least. She was always upfront with whatever she wanted to say. So it was so interesting to see her flustered, mumbling secret words to herself about him. Her attention turned to him when he turned the light off in the bathroom, making his way to her. He laid on the bed next to her,letting the new cold silk sheets graze his skin. His hand reached out to grab her chin, stroking her face softly with his thumb. “And I'm worried about the goddess in front of me. You ain’t got nothing to worry about, mama. And if you ever doubt that, I'll prove to you that you’re the only one I'm focused on.”

Okay…. Maybe this is something special.

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

[rileysluvr]

where simon comes home to you. this was gonna be cute but i’m allergic to writing anything without smut :( nsfw!!

When Simon came home from deployment, he felt horrible.

Stepping through the front door of your shared condominium for the first time in months, the familiar smell of vanilla from your earlier baking flooded the house and his every sense as he left his bags and gear at the door, quietly locking it behind him. He always arrived late at night, exhausted, and tempted by every bar he passed on the cab ride home, but reminded by his aching muscles and worn polaroid photo between his fingers of why he was still breathing, what was waiting at home for him. How he thought of you every second of his deployment, wishing every question and command coming at him was instead a laugh, or whimper, even—he knows he shouldn’t be having these thoughts in such a setting or position, but he couldn’t help it—from your sweet lips, and every fresh bruise to be replaced with the lingering feel of your kisses on his bare skin.

How your pretty voice ate away at his mind, the image of your body under his stature teasing him almost painfully, no matter if he was five-thousand miles from home, or standing behind you in the kitchen, arms tight around your waist as you struggled to continue cooking breakfast with the weight of him almost toppling you over. Your giggles, caused by his lips on your neck, driving him to taking the pan from your grip and pushing it off the burner, spinning you around and picking you up by the thighs with ease, carrying you to the bedroom to have his first and favorite meal of the day as you playfully protest.

These small memories played back in his head as he crossed the hall to the master bedroom, softly pushing the cracked door open. There you laid, sleeping atop the covers, only wearing one of his large t-shirts to combat the summer heat. It warmed his old heart, seeing how much you truly loved him, despite how many times he had told you, Love, you deserve better.

Someone who didn’t have to leave you for months at a time, appearing at the strangest hours at night, only to be gone again sometime within the next few weeks. Someone you could actually talk to about their job with, share interests and experiences of the life of a young adult with. I don’t want anyone better, you batted with a frown.

And you stayed, for some odd reason he couldn’t bring himself to understand, but by God, did he feel disgustingly good for it, because you were his, and he could indulge in your every want.

He sighed when he noticed the way you were curled up, facing his side of the bed as you had fallen asleep with a pillow held tight in your arms. His chest tightened, breathing shallower than usual. Guilt; a feeling he had grown quite used to, though it never got easier. Leaving you alone for such long periods, knowing you were most likely thinking of him just as much as he was of you. Hanging out with the friends you didn’t seem to think of much when he was home, practically glued to each other’s hands and lips.

Christ, how you were probably— no, surely touching yourself to the thought of him fucking you like he always would. The thought of your fingers being replaced with his own, his mouth, begging the silent space around you for release like he was actually there with you; as would he, on the extremely rare occasion he was alone on base and without another demanding task calling his presence. Imagining the way your pretty face would contort, the sweetest whimpers slipping from your lips as he ate you out, making you cum quick, again and again each time, no matter if it’s been weeks or mere hours since he had done it last. He’d expect nothing in return—if you got off, he did too, simple as that—still, he’d never turn down the way you sat up on your knees, thighs weak and shaking, lips quivering and eyes pouting as you begged him for his cock you craved so badly.

You would always confess your lusting to him when he came home, cheeks heating up under your already rosy blush with the way he’d pry you to tell him more. Exactly how you touched yourself, and how often, before he would lean in closer and admit to you his own sins, until you were a soaked mess from only his words. Squeezing your thighs together, closing your eyes and nearly grinding against the material under you, pathetic and desperate for his touch. He’d give in so easily to his sweet girl, bringing you onto his lap and planting his heavy hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth on his thigh until you came in your panties. All warmed up, and he would rid you of your clothes as you work to take his cock out. Relentlessly though unintentionally teasing your entrance with the fat, velvety tip of him with the time it takes for you to get readjusted to something so big. Stark contrast to your fingers, of which could never fulfill your needs, hold you quite like how he could. A man born to serve and not wanting you to work one bit, he assisted you in riding him, gentle with you in this position as he held you oh-so close, needing more and more of you by the second.

Your arms adjusted around the pillow in your sleep, burying your face in the plush fabric, and he was suddenly snapped out of his daydream. He had been standing there, leaned up against the doorframe, staring at you for Christ knows how long. How could you have such an affect on him?

He left to clean himself up, changing into some fresh clothes and downing a cold glass of water before joining you in bed. He carefully slipped the pillow from your grasp and replaced it with himself; bless you, for how heavy of sleeping habits you have. His arms engulfed your small body and pulled you impossibly close, and you snuggled into his hold, any part of you that wanted to wake up immediately being cooed back to sleep with his strained and soft voice telling you, It’s alright, Love ‘t's just me. I’m home. Go back to sleep.

[upinteriors]

Casa Vargem Grande by Juliana Ayako and Zebulun Arquitetura

Casa Vargem Grande deals with topography through the creation of a continuous spatiality that unfolds over the slope of the land.

The house is divided into 5 staggered slabs connected by a continuous and open staircase-corridor that guarantees the maintenance of the view that crosses the land from the front to the back, where there is the condominium's forest reserve. The views vary along the percouse throughout the staggering slabs, unfolding at times towards the base of the valley, at times towards the reserve, and at times towards the peak of the mountains.

The module of the BTC brick and the slope of the terrain determined the size of the slabs and the difference in elevation between them. In this way, the project was measured through rows and blocks instead of centimeters and meters.

The lateral facades are blind and structural in BTC brick - with the exception of a small window - creating an axis that connects the reserve at the back of the house to the valley located in front. These plans guarantee the creation of an interior courtyard which the house faces, closing off the dense context on its sides.

To generate the feeling of a single-story staggered house, a lightweight metal roof rests on the structural BTC walls of the side facades and the round metal pillars of the front and back facades. This continuous roof makes an inflection in the height of the third slab, opening the view towards the top of the valley and creating a mezzanine.

The direct dialogue between the house and the topography and the use of concrete and BTC blocks reflect the weight of the work. The building is placed on the ground, rests on it and ensures that all bedrooms, living room and kitchen have access to the patio and external areas. At the bottom of each slab, the construction touches the ground where the continuous beams-columns meet. Its front, always elevated, guarantees the downward flow of water, avoids major cuts in the land and allows the passage of some small animals that move between the houses.

Design: Juliana Ayako, Zebulun Arquitetura Location: Teresópolis, State of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Year: 2023 Photography: Federico Cairoli

[goldflinches]

the same difference (snippet)

Summary: A friend is a friend, even a few realities removed.

(or: Hob meets a different Dream. He deals with it with as much grace as he can. Which is to say, not much at all.)

---

Square/Prompt: B3 - Obsession | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: Teen

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Notes & Warnings: Show!Hob meets Comic!Dream and Comic!Hob meets Show!Dream (Yes, Based On That Fanart by Alexxuun), First Meetings (Sort Of), Matthew Being A Menace

---

Hob’s day starts with a rude bird.

Matthew, the aforementioned rude bird, announces his surprise visit with a loud “INCOMING!” All before swooping into Hob’s small apartment through the open window, honing in on his toast, landing, and then tearing into it with gusto.

It’s six thirty-nine on another gray, drizzly morning. Hob is still groggy and his lukewarm coffee is mostly on the floor, partially on his shirt. A talking raven is eating his breakfast. Surely, this has to be some sort of ominous thing and not just the actual baseline mundanity of his life. Talking ravens have to be harbingers of…something. Lost breakfasts. Crumbs. Friends who haven’t been in touch for the past three weeks and five days—okay no, it’s too early and he’s too caffeine-deficient for that train of thought right now. Sighing, he tries to pick at the piece of toast Matthew hasn’t devoured yet, only to be met with a quick snap of a beak. “Good morning to you too,” grumbles Hob as he gets up to make his breakfast. Again.

In the kitchen, he hears the telltale susurration of sand from behind him. Hob feels a smile steal across his face immediately, then bites it back almost just as fast. He continues making his second breakfast. As he’s adding another piece of bread to the to-be-toasted pile, he says over his shoulder, “Dream, your bird is eating me out of house and—“ "Oh fuck," croaks Matthew suddenly, “Shit, I forgot—“ Alarmed, Hob whirls around, butter knife and Dream’s favorite brand of strawberry jam at the ready. And he comes face to face with his friend. Or at least, some version of Dream. One with wilder hair and sharper angles, drawn like dancing shadows of tree branches. This Dream smiles with more fang in tooth when he greets Hob with a familiar, resonant tone. “Hello, Hob Gadling.” Hob drops the jam jar.

---

Hob’s day ends with a rude bird.

It had been a long day in a long line of long days and all Hob wanted to do was enjoy a nightcap before sleeping the weekend away. The loud, insistent tapping on the door was not part of the plan. Even as he’s standing in front of the door, Hob contemplates just pretending to not be at home. The hammering on the door gets more intense, almost as if sensing his thoughts. With a defeated sigh, Hob opens a door. And of all things, a raven swoops right in.

It flies down the hall, towards the rest of his condominium with a battle caw, doing a sweep of the space as Hob trails a few paces behind it, utterly bewildered. Ravens are…omens aren’t they? Bad luck or some shoddy housekeeping in this case. He wonders what his old friend would have to say about that, might bring it up next time he deigned to drop by—no, not something worth contemplating right now. At least without a good amount of alcohol in his system.

By now, the bird has perched on his leather sofa, making its mark on the upholstery. Hob slowly approaches it when it opens its beak and, in a clearly American accent, announces, “ALL CLEAR BOSS!” Another layer of confusion is added when Hob hears a deep sigh from the entryway. The raven continues on, “C’mon Boss, you know I had to vet this rando—,” and Hob cannot believe he left the door open. He tunes out the talkative raven as he makes his way down the hallway. On the way, he grabs an…umbrella. It has some heft at least but he’s definitely had to make do with less in the past. Twisting it around in his hands, Hob starts thinking about different scenarios and exit strategies and how he is not in the mood to move on to a new life, whoever is at the door better be ready for his ferocious umbrella backhand— At the doorway stands his friend. Or some other form of his friend. One with a softer lines and sleek planes, like a reflection on the surface of a still, fathomless lake. This version of his friend smiles with only a small curl of his lips, greeting Hob with a voice he misses despite himself.

“Hello, Hob.” Hob grips the umbrella tighter.

[knyox]

I don't think I've ever seen top! Sae x bottom! male reader, so I'm taking it upon myself to feed our bottom inclined male readers (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Enjoy~ (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ 🩷🩵

[Warnings: heavy smut, pwp, rough manhandling, anal sex, bondage, denial of release, overstimulation, slight S&M but it isn't the main focus, not beta read, not proofread]

Teammate reader, male reader, friends (?) with benefits

As usual, after a game that had left a tingling and persistent sensation of adrenaline in your spine, longing for more, you had immediately hopped into the communal showers to wash yourself off the grime and dirt and sweat that clung to your skin.

Sae was there, too. Exchanging a brief look, no words had to be said.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Barely even a door away from Sae's condominium unit, he had pushed you against the wall of the hallway, your tongues immediately tangled in a firey dance. You had stumbled your way to the entrance, with Sae pushing you along, still locked in a fierce kiss, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door.

It was a mess from there, both of you kicking off your shoes and shrugging articles of clothing one after the other, leaving a trail from the living room all the way to Sae's bedroom.

He wasted no time pushing you onto the bed and getting on top of you, his mouth immediately finding your neck, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses from your jaw, trailing lower, sucking marks on your chest where no one else could see. You softly moaned at each ministration, at each touch, your fingers carding through locks of red hair in encouragement. Your responsiveness to each of Sae's touches sent burning arousal straight to his dick, straining against the fabric of his underwear.

Sae lifted up your hips with a free hand, using the other to pull off your sweatpants along with your boxers, almost ripping them with how impatient he was. You shuddered as your cock was freed from its confines, hard and dripping pre-cum down your stomach. Without breaking eye-contact Sae lowered himself, taking you into his mouth. Your back arched at the familiar heat enveloping your dick, a loud moan leaving your lips as the fingers you had on his hair tightened in their hold, and he let out a groan in response, the vibrations of that sound made you buck your hips impatiently.

Sae began sucking, hollowing his cheeks and taking you deeper at each bob of his head, popping off to breathe and licking from the head down to the base and vice versa, teasing the tip before taking you into his mouth again. Your moans reverberated across the four walls of the bedroom, music to Sae's ears as one of his hands trailed under you to cup the plump cheek of your ass, squeezing. Your thighs were closing in on his head, your whines growing in volume and he knew you were close. Just when he felt your cock twitch in his mouth, Sae pulled off with a resounding pop, licking his lips and you almost cried. You were so, so close.

"Not yet baby." He said, kissing your cheek in apology as you glared at him through teary, frustrated eyes. Your hand came down to touch yourself, but he stopped you, taking both your wrists in one hand and pinning them above the bed as he reached for the nightstand, rummaging through the drawers and pulling out a bottle of lube and handcuffs.

Sae not so gently turned you to lay on your stomach, ass up, repositioning your hands behind your back and cuffing them there. He simply couldn't resist, delivering a hard smack to your butt and watching the tender flesh redden, your choked moan in response eliciting a slight smirk form him. Pretend as you might that you hate being denied release and the discomfort and pain that comes with it, he knows just how much you crave getting hurt. He's happy to indulge you in your dirty little masochistic tendencies.

Delivering one last smack, Sae massages the flesh, nails slightly digging into it and marveling at how pliant it is under his hands. You send a glare over your shoulder, telling him to hurry up, and just to spite you, delivers another spank that pulls out yet another moan.

Finally, finally, Sae grabs the lube, pouring a generous amount on his fingers and some directly on your hole, the cold of it making you shiver. His fingers circle your rim before pushing in slowly, the familiar tight heat of your insides enveloping his digits. You sigh in relief at the intrusion, clenching and wiggling against his fingers, signaling him to hurry. He shushes you, telling you to be patient before he adds a third finger, pouring more lube. His fingers move at a languid pace before slowly increasing speed, watching your reactions for any sign of discomfort which there were none. Sae's fingers purposefully graze against those bundle of nerves that drive you crazy, cock twitching upon hearing your high pitched moan. He assaulted that spot for a while, watching as your back arched further, peeking to the side of your face and watching you drool as those sweet sounds left your lips.

You were both getting impatient, so Sae pulled out his fingers, shucking off his last remaining article of clothing and lathering his dick in lube before roughly pushing in, burying himself to the hilt in one, hard thrust. He relished in the sound of your pained but pleasured moan, the way your hands clenched into fists pitifully as the cuffs prevented you from moving your hands anywhere else. You were completely at Sae's mercy, and you loved it, relinquishing control.

Sae set a brutal and punishing pace that left you breathless and drooling into the pillows, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room, only your sobbing of Sae's name overpowering it. He lowered himself further onto you, his chest pressed against your back, one arm on your waist and the other over your chest, hand on your neck and jaw, forcing your head to be tilted up as he groaned lowly into your ear, biting the lobe. You were utterly consumed by his form, and you could feel him so deep inside you, hitting your prostate repeatedly with each thrust.

"Close... close close close... ngh~ 'm so close~ Sae... Sae.." You chanted over and over again like a mantra, feeling that familiar coil in your stomach, eyes rolling to the back of your head as drool dripped from your chin and onto Sae's hand on your jaw.

"Fuck.." *He growled, pulling out of you and you almost sobbed until he roughly turned you to lay on your back, lifting your thighs on his shoulders before roughly thrusting back in, resuming his brutal pace as he leaned down, nearly folding you in half. You could feel him impossibly deeper and you almost screamed, your restrained wrists struggling behind your back against the cuffs, fingers now tightly gripping the sheets. "Cum for me baby. Wanna see you cum on my cock... So good. So good (y/n)... taking me so well like a good slut.." He groaned into your ear, kissing and sucking marks onto your skin.

That sent you toppling over the edge, hot white pleasure clouding your senses as your cock twitched, thick spurts of cum staining your stomach and chest as you came with a loud cry, body convulsing with the force of your release. Sae moaned as he felt you clench and tighten around him, but he was far from done and you both knew it. He slowed down the pace of his thrusts after you rode out your orgasm, observing as you whined, weakly moaning as you caught your breath, his hands coming up to rub comfortingly at your skin.

Once he deemed you were okay enough, he resumed the brutal pace, chasing his own release. You were so sensitive still, and the attack on your prostate made your body jerk sharply, thighs trembling as you whimpered, feeling the overstimulation start kicking in. You had barely recovered from your orgasm, cock laying soft against your stomach, and you whined, begging Sae to stop. You both knew you didn't actually want him to.

You sobbed, tears slipping past your eyes as the painfully pleasurable sensation assaulted your senses at every one of Sae's thrusts. You had practically screamed when he grabbed your soft cock, jerking it in tandem with his pounding. It started to harden in his hands, and you were losing yourself in the overwhelming sensation, babbling mindlessly for him to slow down and stop, begging and crying and whining and Sae relished in how utterly debauched and fucked out of your brains you looked. Drool on your chin, tears on face and bangs sticking to your sweaty forehead - it drives Sae absolutely insane. He's close, he could feel it. He jerks you faster and harder, the pace of his thrusts becoming erratic as he lost himself in your body and your sounds. You came once again, screaming his name and Sae is sure his neighbors could hear. The feeling of you tightening and convulsing around his cock was too much and Sae followed suit after a few hard thrusts, releasing inside of you with a groan.

You felt so warm and so full, utterly fucked into the next universe as your body twitched and convulsed. You whimpered in pain when Sae pulled out, the overstimulation becoming too much. He gently lifted your body up slightly to uncuff your wrists then layed you back down, massaging the red marks that had formed from struggling against the cold metal.

"You did good. Are you okay? Did I hurt you too much? Y/n, can you hear me?" Sae cupped you face, wiping away the tears and brushing your hair out of your eyes. You managed a weak nod, struggling to catch your breath. Sae may be a cold man, but he's not heartless. He gently kisses your forehead, telling you to wait a moment as he runs into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to wipe you down. He gently glides it over your body, wiping off the stains before helping you drink a glass of water.

"Sorry. Didn't ask if I could cum inside. Wanna shower? I'll help you up."

You shook your head in response, voice coming out hoarse as you spoke, "It's okay. Felt good." Was all you could manage, still recovering from the intensity. Sae gave you a kiss on the neck before covering you up with a blanket as he hopped beside you, enveloping you in a warm embrace as sleep slowly consumed you.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

You stared into the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Then you met Sae's gaze through the mirror, then back at yourself.

"Sae what the fuck." He had unconsciously left marks on the visible parts of your skin - your neck and jaw.

At least he had enough shame in that cold heart (affectionate) of his to look slightly sorry about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

whew. 1776 words :3

Not very dialogue heavy. porn without plot - the only plot here being friends with benefits and teammates. oho... if the media spots the hickeys on y/n's neck when the paparazzi stalking him uploads pictures 🤭

I hope you all enjoyed! English is not my native language and I pretty much only write what I think sounds right hehe (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

It's also my first time writing smut, so I hope it's satisfactory! To those that read and stuck around this far, thank you for reading!

🩵🩷🩵🩷

[cthulhusstepmom]

It was really just Ghost's luck, this entire series of fucking calamities. First and foremost leave, which at this point he felt he had well enough in hand. At least he had until one John MacTavish had clambered into his life. Ghost had been perfectly content with coming and going, haunting his bare bones flat in Manchester when he was unwanted and unneeded on base. Sure he liked Kyle and Price well enough but living on top of each other crammed into shoe boxes did little for wanting to stick around unduly; besides Price taking leave was a rare occurrence and Gaz had a busy life off base that he slipped in and out of like an otter in a stream(good god if Ghost never heard about another rave or awkward morning after of Kyle Garrick plus however many guests it would be too soon). But he wanted to be with Soap, Johnny made the shitty bunks and the paper thin walls worth it. Made the constant running and gunning feel like more than just a macabre 9-5.

Made Ghost feel alive again.

This would be the first major leave since Last Almas, at least a month and a half of hard earned rest and relaxation in the comfort of their own beds. Ghost was dreading it. The nightmares were always worse in his flat, the pseudo domestic setting bringing forth memories of bloody puddles and broken crayons instead of the tried and true reruns of his own torture and burial. His therapist had told him to put more of himself into his flat, to try and make the place a safe haven even if it wasn't really a home. The problem with that was quite simple, there wasn't anything left of Simon Riley to give. At least there wasn't until Soap. Until the long buried human part of his brain was rudely shaken awake by a tirade of Scottish nonsense and good-natured touches. And now he was just supposed to leave and go back to the barren walls and sterile rooms of his little holding cell.

To make things even better in this home that wasn't home, the first thing he smelled upon crossing the threshold was an overwhelming odor of mildew and mold. Finding the source had been easy enough, sometime between now and last whenever the fuck he'd left last a pipe had burst and flooded the whole place; ruining the carpet and corrupting the few furnishings he had with dark black mold. His first call had been to building maintenance and they'd been quick to give him an estimate on just how long he had to stay the fuck out of the flat, at least a month funny that. The next call had been to Price, with no answer. Bastard was probably sipping expensive whiskey on the beach somewhere warm. Intellectually he knows that Gaz would offer him his spare room but he would rather not be subject to the conga line of mostly unclothed people Gaz apparently has traipsing through his condominium at any given hour. Which leaves him a single option.

Soap doesn't answer. Probably due in large part to the fact that Ghost doesn't call him.

Logically he knows that the Sergeant probably wouldn't turn him away, Johnny just isn't wired that way. But the element of surprise has served him well and in this fucked scenario going into the blind, Ghost will take all the cards he can shove up his sleeve.

It's not much to go off of, just the address he memorized from Johnny's file, but with the magic of modern technology he finds the little flat soon enough. The drive to Edinburgh is pleasant if long and the weather is mockingly mild. All setting the stage for another calamity as Ghost finds himself standing on the stoop of his Sergeant's flat (he ought to recognize by now that the universe forbids him from having a good day). He raps sharply on the wood of the door three times before he can convince himself that sleeping under a bridge is a better plan of action. It takes a minute or two before he hears anything, cursing himself for thinking that Johnny is even at home, before a muffled crash and wicked cursing within the flat signals that this is the right place and, for better or worse, Johnny's home. Ghost locks his knees and tries to figure out what to do with his hands as the cacophony grows closer.

"Sorry aboot tha, was wrapped up in tha studio- Ghost?"

Ghost opens his mouth to reply but the words fall right out of his head and onto the well loved welcome mat as his eyes take in his Sergeant. His hands are smeared with what his untrained eye assumes is paint, the flecks of color dance up his forearms and over the old t shirt he's wearing. His hair is loose and longer than it usually is, no sense in gelling it back on leave he supposed. But what really stops his mind from working is the thin band of black leather wrapped around Soap's neck, clasped with a shiny silver buckle.

A fucking collar.

Before Ghost can pull his thoughts together, he's being dragged by the front of his sweatshirt into the flat and pressed against the wall so the door can swing forcefully shut.

"Is everything ok? You in trouble?" Johnny asks, concern burning in his eyes.

"Pipe burst in my flat, thought I'd ask if I could surf your couch." He manages to choke out, eyes lingering on the way the leather hugs his subordinate's neck.

"Of course yeh can yeh numpty! Gave me a right fucking scare ya big bastard, showing up all silent on my doorstep. Coulda called, even sent a text eh Ghost. I was at the shops this morning, if I would've known you were coming I woulda shopped for two." Soap releases his hold on the fabric and allows Ghost room to leave the wall.

"Wear that shopping didya?" Is about the most coherent thing he can manage.

Soap looks at him confused before a hand travels up to his throat and a look of dread crosses his features.

"Oh shite."

A blazing red blush heats the tips of his Sergeant's ears, travelling down to his cheeks and collarbones as he runs a hand over his face.

"S'not what it looks like I promise, I don't even wear it oot most of the time." Most of the time? "It just reminds me of a throat mic; S' grounding, my shrink called it a sensory thing? I dinnae ken, but if it helps it helps y'ken-" the bubbling fountain of embarrassed explanation that flows from Soap's lips doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

Ghost reaches out a hand and pinches his bicep.

"-Ow, fuck was that for?"

"Johnny look at me, think I can judge how you dress on leave?" The skull print gaiter goes a lot further than any words to prove his point. Paired with sunglasses and a black baseball cap it's close enough to a mask to prevent a total mental breakdown.

Johnny looks over his visage with understanding eyes, nods gravely once and then turns towards the innards of the flat.

"Awright, let's get you set up! Loo is over there, it's a wee bit cramped so you can use my shower, here's the living room and ma bedroom is through there, that right there is the studio it was the second bedroom but it had the best lighting-" Ghost follows obediently, halfheartedly taking in bright decor that sings with Soap's frenetic energy.

How the fuck is he gonna survive Soap wearing that around the house?

[fatehbaz]

In the late 18th century, [...] Lahaina carried such an abundance of water that early explorers reportedly anointed it “Venice of the Pacific”. A glut of natural wetlands nourished breadfruit trees, extensive taro terraces and fishponds that sustained wildlife and generations of Native Hawaiian families.

But more than a century and a half of plantation agriculture, driven by American and European colonists, have depleted Lahaina’s streams and turned biodiverse food forests into tinderboxes. Today, Hawaii spends $3bn a year importing up to 90% of its food. This altered ecology, experts say, gave rise to the 8 August blaze that decimated the historic west Maui town and killed more than 111 people.

“The rise of plantation capital spawned the drying of the west side of Maui,” said Kamana Beamer, a historian and a former member of the Hawaii commission on water resource management [...].

---

[S]ugar and pineapple white magnates began arriving on the islands in the early 1800s. For much of the next two centuries, Maui-based plantation owners like Alexander & Baldwin and Maui Land & Pineapple Company reaped enormous fortunes, uprooting native trees and extracting billions of gallons of water from streams to grow their thirsty crops. (Annual sugar cane production averaged 1m tons until the mid-1980s; a pound of sugar requires 2,000lb of freshwater to produce.)

Invasive plants that were introduced as livestock forage, like guinea grass, now cover a quarter of Hawaii’s surface area. The extensive use of pesticides on Maui’s pineapple fields poisoned nearby water wells. The dawn of large-scale agriculture dramatically changed land practices in Maui, where natural resources no longer served as a mode of food production or a habitat for birds but a means of generating fast cash, said Lucienne de Naie, an east Maui historian [...].

“The land was turned from this fertile plain – with these big healthy trees, wetland taros and dryland crops like banana and breadfruit – to a mass of monoculture: to rows and rows of sugar cane, and rows and rows of pineapple,” she said.

---

The Great Māhele of 1848, a ground-breaking law that legitimized private land ownership, laid the ground for big developers to hoard water for profit, said Jonathan Likeke Scheuer, a water policy consultant and co-author of the book Water and Power in West Maui. [...] [T]he creation of private property allowed agricultural corporations to wield “political and ultimately oligarchic power” over elected officials. In 1893, a group of sugar magnates and capitalists overthrew the Hawaiian Kingdom’s Queen Liliuokalani, paving the way for the US to annex Hawaii five years later. Sanford Ballard Dole, a cousin of Dole Plantation’s founder, served as the first governor of Hawaii.

When the last of the sugar companies closed in 2016 [...], Scheuer said, the farms were purchased by large investors for real estate speculation and left fallow, overrun with invasive grasses that became fuel for brush fires. Developers [...] took control of the plantations’ century-old irrigation ditches and diverted water to service its luxury subdivisions. In doing so, it left scraps for Indigenous families who lived downstream. [...] [O]n Maui, 16 of the top 20 water users are resorts, time-shares and short-term condominium rentals equipped with emerald golf courses and glittering pools [...].

---

Text by: Claire Wang. "How 19th-century pineapple plantations turned Maui into a tinderbox". The Guardian. 27 August 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[auroracalisto]

good enough

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x gn!reader, 8k words tw: MAJOR MISCOMMUNICATION TROPE. divorce, cussing (lots of f bombs at some point), lots of arguing, angst, at one point, reader is said to have had depression before. the reader and bradley are both idiots and neither one of them can properly deal with shit. macho man rooster ends up letting fear gets the best of him and he literally ruins his own life bc of it LMAO, possibly ooc if you squint, possibly questionable actions when it comes to friends, this is dramatic as hell (and i loved every minute of it), self-doubt, angry characters, regret is strong here, rooster fears death and makes it a personality trait™ a/n: based on the song "good enough" by maisie peters. sorry for all of the tws, but i just wanted to try and mark all the boxes. but fr i love bradley. this is purely a play on the song i named, and is just a piece of fiction. a dramatic piece of fiction. like literally take rooster and place him in some angsty romance novel, but cut out the smut. that's this. i am also so sorry for the length of this. i just... started going and i couldn't stop. LMAO

Your heart lurched to your throat as you stood there, his head turned away from your lips—he was avoiding your touch. He didn’t have to say it for you to realize it.

You hesitantly smiled, backing down. Maybe he just had a bad day. It happened pretty often, so taking it personally wouldn’t have benefited you in any way.

He was your favorite person, and you knew you were his. You two were best friends until the end of time. That’s how it had been since even before you two got married—that’s how it would stay.

The television that sat in the living room had long since been turned off. The fan perched in the corner of the room silently hummed along, providing little relief to the California heat that plagued your home.

"Rooster," you began, rubbing the back of your neck. Sweat stuck to the palm of your hand, and you grimaced as you quickly wiped your hand off on the seat of your pants. "How was your day? I know it's been busy—"

"—we need to talk," he said, cutting you off.

He didn't even give you a chance to question things as he walked past you, sitting down on the sofa in your shared condominium. You blinked slowly at your husband, but you gave a small nod. Your feet moved on their own accord as you sat beside him. You placed a hand on his knee, and he only pulled himself away from you.

You swallowed thickly, nerves getting the best of you. Had you done something to offend him recently? Did something happen with Maverick again? You had thought they were doing well—the videos Natasha had sent you were proof enough of that. It warmed your heart to know that he was finally finding himself in this crazy world.

Maybe it was just hot. Yes, that’s it. The heat was getting to him. It had been getting to everyone on base, and at work. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was the same thing here.

"Bradley…?" You said nothing more than his name, watching him with nothing but pure adoration behind your eyes. He meant the world to you. There was nothing he could say or do to change this, even if he was avoiding you.

The man looked at anything but you. His dark brown eyes stared at the black television, and then they moved to the grey carpet just beneath his boot-clad feet.

You must have just vacuumed. He could see the indentations, and that’s what he chose to focus on as he searched for the right words to say. But they never came.

"I want a divorce," he said.

It was so simple. Those four words.

And just like that, your world came crashing around you.

Where was this coming from? Did you do something to upset him?

The words swirled around in your brain, repeating over and over until it hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your chest. He wants a divorce.

You sat on the edge of the black sofa, eyes fluttering shut as you took in a deep breath. Your hands rested in fists on top of your thighs as you wracked your mind for an explanation. You couldn't find one.

There was nothing that could justify whatever this was.

How long had he been thinking about this?

"Where… where is this coming from?" you asked. You just had to know.

"I don't want to talk about it. Just… please."

"What?" You looked up at him in disbelief. "You—you want to divorce me but you won't even give me a reason?" you asked. Your eyes burned as you held back your tears. You couldn't cry. Not now. If you cried that first tear, then surely, they would never stop.

"I have never asked you for anything, Y/n. Please, just say yes.”

"I don't understand where this is coming from, Bradley," you said, reaching forward to take ahold of his hand. "Please. Talk to me. I want to understand what's going on."

Rooster clenched his jaw, looking down at your hands. Your wedding band glinted in the soft glow of the light overhead. The beautiful piece glared at him as he fought to find the right words to say—but nothing he could say would make this better. Not now.

The words left him without a second thought.

"I don't love you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't be telling you the truth right now. He did love you. He married you! Why would he ever ask you to marry him if he didn't love you?

Why would you plan your life together if he didn’t love you?

But even though you could create more and more questions in your mind, trying to placate every emotion coursing through your veins, nothing made sense.

You pulled your hand away as your tears finally began to fall. If he didn't love you, you wouldn't force him to be with you any more than he wanted.

Rooster inwardly grimaced, but he wasn’t about to let you see that. He needed to be strong—he needed to save face and keep on digging in the same grave he had started.

"Just… just tell me when."

"When what?"

"When did this happen? When did you fall out of love? I—I thought you loved me, Bradley. I love you."

He pursed his lips. He seemed to hesitate as he allowed his eyes to meet yours. Rooster's blood rushed to his ears, and his fingers itched to grab onto something. To grab onto you. But he couldn’t. He couldn't even look at you properly when you looked so sad, but he forced himself to do so anyway. You deserved that, at least. You deserved to be looked at when he was ending the relationship you fought so hard to keep.

"I don't know. It just… happened."

He was lying. He had to be lying. There was no way he was being honest—he loves you. He loves you, and this was all just some bad dream. Some bad joke that Hangman put him up to. Maybe Fanboy was in on it, too. Surely, someone put him up to this. They had money in a bowl somewhere, waiting for your reaction so they would know who won. He’d whip out his phone soon and text them the result.

But the way he looked at you… you knew he was telling you the truth. He wanted a divorce. This was happening, whether you wanted it to or not. There was no cruel bet, no ulterior motive.

This was happening.

Every moment of the past three years pierced your brain—Bradley asking you out in the middle of the Hard Deck. Meeting his friends. Picking out your wedding rings. Becoming Y/n Bradshaw. The kisses you shared. The whispered conversations, the happy smiles, the—

He was your life. He is your life. You love him more than life itself.

But he loved you.

Loved. Past-tense.

He did love you. Something changed. What had changed?

You abruptly stood up, roughly wiping your tears away. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be near him right now. Your heart was far too heavy, weighed down by the immense burden of his confession.

"Alright," you said. "I… I won't force you to stay with me. I would never do that to you, Bradley. I would… I would never, ever want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You held back a sob, fists balled at your sides. “We can get a divorce."

Relief spread across his face. He couldn't smile, though. This ended up being a lot harder than he expected it to be.

"Thank you," he said. He stood up, towering over you like usual. "I appreciate it."

You gave a curt nod, averting your gaze. Your tongue poked out, nervously wetting your lips as you cleared your throat. He appreciated it.

Were you just a joke to him?

"I will… I will make arrangements. I will leave by next week."

"What? You don't have to do that. There's no rush—"

"—I'll leave by next week," you cut him off, no longer looking at him.

What was he doing? You didn’t need this. You didn’t need him. As you took a step forward, the tears began to fall. Your husband forced himself to stay put as you rushed off to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You found little comfort in the blankets that now surrounded you, tears wetting the pillow on which you rested your head night after night. You found little comfort in the place you spent with your husband, time after time, lamenting how much you loved each other. Planning the future of your life—of your family. Of your relationship that should have only grown in love.

The memories of this bed burned in the back of your mind. You could hardly breathe as the sobs plowed through your body.

This wasn’t fair.

This couldn’t be real.

Rooster slowly sat back down, burying his face in his hands. His elbows dug into his thighs, a choked sob catching in the back of his throat. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to say that to you. It was far from the truth. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

This was for the best.

This would keep you safe.

As the sun peered through the grey curtains, setting just beyond the horizon, Rooster stood up. He wiped his tears away, instantly hardening. He had done this time and time again. He would hide, folding back into himself like a metal chair—he’d be there for people when he was needed, but he would be just out of the way until then. He wouldn’t bother you any longer than he needed to.

This was for the best—you wouldn’t have to live your life wondering what could have been.

If he died, that was that. You would move on, and he could rest peacefully in the afterlife.

His father hadn’t ever given his mother a chance to do something like that. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake.

Three years had passed.

Three, long and grueling years had inched by, taking your misery along with you. The New Year would pass over and over, and the only thing you would write on your resolution list was: Move on.

But you never could. That list ended up in the garbage only weeks after drafting it up.

How could you when the love of your life left as he did? How could you when you knew he was the only thing that kept you going, even if you were hundreds of miles away?

They would never say it out loud, but your friends never quite said anything about why he divorced you—why he fell out of love. But why would he tell them something like that? Rooster generally kept to himself. It wasn't something that he would have been very honest about, to begin with.

You knew they knew something more, but they never said anything. You never expected them to, either. They were your friends as much as they were his, and they had been his friend for far longer. You couldn't blame them. Whatever they knew—that was his business. But you kept silent, allowing yourself to wallow in self-pity for more than you should have.

But just like you couldn't blame them for keeping his secrets… who could blame you?

You had your own life before Rooster, yes, you did. You didn’t depend on him. You were independent, and you had your own interests and everything. You didn’t need him. But with his confession, it was as if everything you had ever known had been tossed out of the window of a speeding car in an instant, shattering against the run-down pavement. Pieces flew everywhere—you'd never be able to find them again, let alone put them back together.

You'd never have enough glue for something like that.

You would never be able to repair the gaping hole that was in your heart.

And you knew it was silly. You shouldn’t have ever let yourself trust someone so completely. But you never thought something like that would happen. Rooster was so easy to love.

He was such a happy person—he exuded confidence. He was the epitome of an amazing human being. And yet, he still fell out of love with you.

You never believed someone could just fall out of love so easily.

So, instead of remaining in the very place you felt like you were sinking in, you did what you thought was best. You packed your things and moved to Virginia. At least there, you'd be far enough away that he'd never find you. The mileage did little to comfort you, but it was something.

At least here, you felt like you could breathe.

Changing from the west coast to the east coast was drastic—but you adapted. You had to. You couldn't continue living in the very place that was threatening you at every given minute. You couldn’t continue on in a place where at every corner, something reminded you of him. It was driving you into a familiar depression—one that you had known before Rooster, and one that you would now know after Rooster.

When you left, Phoenix was devastated. Other than Bob, you were her closest friend. She never stopped talking to you—she never stopped being friends with you, even when you moved across the country. When Phoenix asked you to come in to visit, you hesitated. But then she promised you that Rooster wouldn't be there. That he would be visiting some family he had up north—his girlfriend's family. He would be using this free time to get to know them better.

You wouldn't say you were happy for him. Hell, that was far from the truth. Despite the fact you no longer wore your ring on your finger, it was always on a chain around your neck. Your heart still beats for him, no matter how many times you had tried to move on. And you did it all. You tried everything that Google said to do. One night stands, going out with strangers, having people set you up, hell, you even tried therapy. But it never worked.

Why would it? Rooster was the love of your life. He was the one you had seen yourself dying with—he was the one you wanted to grow old with. And he didn't want that in you. He didn't see the same things.

He didn’t see your relationship as a rising sun just beyond the mountain tops. He was already there with the setting sun, disappearing beyond the horizon. He had been there, at the end of your relationship, far before you even had a chance to find the middle. He had made peace with the end. You couldn’t even find peace in the beginning.

After much pestering and a FaceTime call from both Phoenix and Bob, you were convinced to join them back in California for a week. But your only condition was that Phoenix would be paying half for your plane ticket. She agreed in a heartbeat.

So that's why you stood here now, in front of the old dormitory in which you used to visit your friends in. You had already been to the hotel you'd be staying at, and you took a taxi to the base.

The grey building towered over you, making you feel far smaller than you actually were. Memories sat behind those walls, waiting for you to relive them, even if you didn’t want to.

It only took one text message to Natasha before she came barreling down the sidewalk, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. Bob was not far behind, and Hangman was taking his sweet ole time. You didn't know he'd be around, but you felt better knowing he was—you had been close before Rooster sent in the papers. He helped you pack and get your things to Virginia.

You hugged Phoenix tightly, smiling up at her.

"It's been too long!" she nearly shouted, excitement running through her body. As she pulled away, Bob pulled you into a hug. He greeted you as he had so many times, with a hug and a simple ‘hello.’

Last but not least, Hangman sent you a smile. He pulled you into a hug, despite the fact he used to be one of the last people you would expect it from. You melted into the hug, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

"It's… it's good to be back. I'm glad to see you guys."

"Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy are already at the bar. Said they'd just meet us there. You ready?" Phoenix grinned.

You were as ready as you would ever be. You gave a small nod to your friend, and before you knew it, you were on your way to the very place you met your ex-husband. The Hard Deck.

It was suffocating, standing in that corner all alone. Your friends played pool, and you watched as the different colored balls sunk into the pockets that lined the edge. Hangman stood off to the side, beating some stranger in darts.

Rooster had always been good at that.

Lost in your mind like you had been so many times before, the sound of a glass falling at the bar made you jump.

And then you saw him. Your own glass slipped through your fingertips, crashing onto the floor. Shards littered the wood floor. Phoenix yelped your name in surprise, coming to your side immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on your arm to try and comfort you. You continued to stare, and she eventually looked in the direction of your gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting as she tried to find something to say.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near you.

And he was looking right at you.

"Y/n, it's okay, he's not—"

You pulled your arm away from Phoenix, taking a couple of steps back before you took off running in the direction of the restrooms. It was as good of a hiding spot as anywhere, and you'd be able to collect yourself before going back out there. You couldn’t possibly run past him—he’d stop you. Or at least, try to follow you. Phoenix would make him leave. Surely, she wouldn't just let him stay.

You locked yourself in a stall, sitting down on the toilet seat. You took in a deep, releasing a shaky breath as tears clouded your vision. A hand pressed to your mouth, elbows digging into the meat of your thighs as you tried to keep yourself calm.

This wasn't happening! She promised he wasn't here. Why would she lie?

Maybe she didn't know.

The bright light in the bathroom was far too much.

The dripping water from the sink struck the porcelain—plip, plip, plip.

The noise from the bar was deafening as you sat there, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Loud voices echoed through the building, striking your ears in an instant. But the more you cried, the more your sobs became the only thing you heard.

It had been ages since you cried over him, so why now? Why were you so triggered by just seeing him?

You tried to calm yourself down but to no avail.

You loved him. You love him. You never stopped. You couldn't just stop.

You tried so hard. You spent years trying to forget the man who ripped your heart in two with four simple words.

But the universe had a funny way of working. It seemed to work against you in every way possible, no matter what.

You could never win.

You would never win.

No matter what, you were never good enough.

You hadn't been good enough in school. You weren't good enough at work. And you hadn't been good enough for Rooster, even when you were married. You weren't good enough for him, now, either.

There was a knock at the bathroom door before you heard it creak open. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to keep quiet, choked sobs caught in your chest.

Worn shoes popped up underneath the stall door you found refuge in. Those same damn shoes you bought him once for Christmas, four years ago. He had been so excited—they were almost the exact same pair his mother had bought him one year for his birthday. His father's favorite brand—his favorite style of shoe.

God, you searched everywhere for those damn shoes.

And he kept them.

Silence enveloped the bathroom, save for your stifled sobs. You rested your shoulder against the old paneled walls, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore him. But he knew you were there. It was far too late, now.

Rooster stood there, fist raised to knock on the stall door. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. What would he even say? What would have been good enough?

Three years had come and gone without you. Three long years in which he felt as if he was drowning, just existing. He would have been better off launching himself into that ocean, the same as his father. His wedding band was stuffed away in some kind of pocket, always near him or on his person in some way. He tried to get over you—one-night stands, blind dates, even going as far as asking Hangman to find him a girl.

It worked, for a while.

He started dating Kristie—a sweet woman who worked as a nurse on base. But she saw right through him. She knew who he was, and what was going on in that head of his.

She wasn't mad—a bit disappointed, yes, but it didn't stop her from breaking up with him and canceling their planned vacation up north together.

She wasn’t you. She would never be you.

And he didn’t think he would ever see you again.

Rooster found himself in the middle of the Hard Deck, never once expecting you to be there. None of the Dagger Squad had said anything about you. He didn't know you were even going to be in town.

He felt like he couldn't breathe when he laid eyes on you.

The yellow lighting cast a soft glow on your skin. You were beautiful. You had always been beautiful, but damn, you looked even more beautiful now. Maybe it was just the years that had passed him by.

The walls of his small corner of the world couldn’t fall on him sooner.

The glass that crunched under your shoes became the only thing he heard until he watched as you ran back into the hallway.

In a split second, Hangman was beside him, obviously pissed.

"What the hell, man? Why aren't you with Kristie?"

"She broke it off."

Hangman clenched his jaw. He couldn't believe this was happening, but then again, Rooster had his head far up his ass more often than not. Hangman punched him in the arm, just enough for it to hurt.

"You need to leave," he said, watching as Rooster recoiled in pain.

"What?" Rooster looked at him in surprise. "No."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Was this idiot really that much of an asshole?

This time, Phoenix spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest. "We promised you wouldn't be here. You're supposed to be up north. You're supposed to be far away from here!"

"You promised?" Rooster stared her down.

"Well, yeah, you asshole! You broke their heart. They didn't even want to come here in the first place. God, I should've just gone to see them instead of dragging them out here," Phoenix groaned, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.

Rooster hesitantly took a step forward.

"Rooster, get out," Hangman said, voice low.

He shook his head. He needed to talk to you.

"Rooster!"

He broke out into a run, and before Hangman could follow, Phoenix grabbed his arm.

"What the hell?" he stared at her in disbelief.

"Just let it happen," she said.

"Let what happen? Watch Y/n get their heart stepped on all over again?"

"Just… just let it happen."

Phoenix would wait for you to berate her, later. But for now, she could only wish her friends would try to make up. She could only wish that Rooster would gain a pair and grow up. Her heart ached for you as she watched Rooster run back to the bathrooms, knowing that she couldn’t ever take the pain away from you. The only one who could do that was Rooster, himself, and even then, she wasn’t sure if that would happen.

And now, he found himself standing there, the silence deafening in the small space. The light was bright in the enclosure—brighter than he remembered. His hand was still hovering, his arm growing heavy as he debated on knocking.

Should he just leave? Should he do as Hangman said and walk out? But he couldn't just leave. Not now. Not when he knew he made the biggest mistake of his life, telling you all that bullshit.

You used your sleeves to wipe your tears away as you shakily got to your feet. Your fingers struggled to even unlock the stall door, but when you did, you swung it open. Rooster had to back up just to avoid being hit with the metal.

The two of you just stood there, bright light casting shadows onto the old tile floor. Not a word was said as Rooster stared at you.

You were exactly as he remembered, if not better. You had changed your hair since the last time he saw you. He kept the mustache, and his hair was still cut the same. You kept the same style and the same makeup (or lack thereof).

You still looked at him the same… even if it quickly changed into one of anger.

You were still so beautiful.

His voice caught in his throat. He wanted to talk to you, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to you. Nothing he could say would make things better.

He was such an idiot.

You stepped forward, walking to the stark white sink. You grabbed a few paper towels and wet them before carefully wiping the remnants of your tears. You stared at your reflection in the rounded mirror, your lip caught between your teeth as you hiccuped.

"Y/n?" Rooster tentatively began. He raised a hand to touch your shoulder.

You immediately moved away from his touch, glaring in his direction.

His fist clenched beside him as he watched you.

You tossed the paper towels in the trash and pushed past him, quickly leaving the bathroom.

"Y/n," he repeated.

As you walked, he followed.

Your friends stood in their respective corner, knowing they should intervene. Yet they stayed, hoping that somehow, Rooster would fix his fuck up. They couldn’t keep watching the two of you fight some imaginary battle—they couldn’t watch the two of you wish your life away for something that was quite literally at the tips of your fingers.

Phoenix wasn't too sure if he'd be able to fix this. Hangman honestly wanted to hang a man.

You shoved the doors open, walking into the cool California night. It wasn’t like the cold in Virginia. Virginia’s winters were unforgiving—the snow that would fall would chill you to your very core. Virginia winters would put southern California to shame in an instant. At this very moment, you wished you were there, standing in the chilling wind, begging for some kind of relief—at least then, your body would become numb even if your mind was still running a mile a minute.

Nothing could have prepared you for what had transpired. Nothing could have prepared you for seeing the man you fought so hard to forget.

With no car, you continued walking. You'd call a taxi at some point. Right now, you just needed to breathe.

But you had yet to realize Rooster was still following you.

The man grabbed ahold of your wrist, making you stop in the middle of the damn parking lot. Cars and trucks alike littered the parking spots. A few people walked past you as they went into the bar, ignoring the tension that stood in the middle of it all.

You whipped around, jerking your arm away from him with wide eyes. "What's your fucking problem?!"

Rooster paused, body going rigid as he waited for you to continue.

You had never yelled at him, even when he asked for a divorce.

"Why the fuck are you even here? You're not supposed to be here! You have a fucking girlfriend. Get away from me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Tears sprung to your eyes once more. You tilted your head back, wishing they would just stop. The stars stared down at you, mocking you where you stood. The sky was so close, and yet so far away.

God, would this man ever make you stop crying?

"Y/n—"

"—just go away! I don't want you here!"

"Please," he began, "I need to talk to you. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?! Oh, that's rich! Just leave me alone. You did enough damage when you asked for a divorce. Just leave me alone."

"Y/n, please," he continued. "You… please just hear me out."

"I heard you out once, and it was the worst fucking time of my life," you said. "I'm not listening to you ever again."

You turned back around, set on leaving—this time a bit faster. But his words grounded you in your spot, heart leaping to your throat once more.

"It was a mistake!"

You stared at the gravel that crunched underneath your feet. You could feel your pulse rushing through your body, fast and unsteady.

Nothing could have prepared you for that.

"It was a mistake, Y/n," he said, his voice far quieter this time. "I never should have asked for a divorce. I never should have said anything. I should—I should have just—"

"—what, toughed it out? Let me realize you stopped loving me when you started cheating on me or some shit?"

His eyes widened in surprise.

"What? No. No, Y/n… I… I never should have said anything. I never stopped loving you."

What?

You couldn't breathe—your lungs constricted in your chest, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Your body burned as you looked up at the night sky, stars littering the vast ocean of darkness. They still mocked you, but this time, dark clouds rolled in. Perhaps the sky knew just how you felt. The moon cast a soft glow on everything in its path.

Tears blurred your vision once more.

He never stopped loving you.

You let out a sob, turning to face him.

"What?"

"I never stopped loving you," Rooster lamented. "I… still love you."

"Then… then… why?"

"I couldn't do it to you."

"What? Do what?"

"I couldn't die! I couldn't die and leave you a widow. I couldn't end up with the same fate my dad had, leaving you just the same as my mom," he said.

"Well you're not fucking dead, are you?!"

Rooster paused, lips parting to speak.

"You're not dead. You're standing right in front of me, telling me that the reason you fucking divorced me was because you didn't want me to be a widow?! I would have been less upset if you had fucking died!" You took in a deep breath, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You did not have to do that. You did not have to make me miserable. You did not have to make me feel like the one person who loved me was an entire lie!”

Rooster winced. Your words pierced his soul like a sharp bullet, ricocheting off the crevices of his very soul.

"Fuck off, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, fists clenched at your sides. "I never want to see you again."

"But Y/n—"

"—no! No, I'm over you, you bastard! I don't love you anymore. I haven't in years. You're still in love with me? That's great. Fucking deal with it. You deserve to feel the pain of not knowing. You deserve to lose yourself in everything you thought was yours.”

Bradley Bradshaw had never felt as if he wasn't good enough. When he was faced with adversity, he worked harder. When he felt bad about something, he did more to try and overcome that. He had never felt as if anything he did wasn't good enough. But in this very moment, he stood there, wondering how in the world he could have fucked up so badly.

He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough, for you. That much was evident as he watched you once again walk away from him, disappearing into the night.

His eyes fluttered shut and he held back his tears as he stood there, waiting for lightning to strike him where he stood. Surely, it'd be better than having to go back into the Hard Deck after a screaming match like that.

He deserved it.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He opened his eyes, head darting in the person's direction. Hangman watched him for a moment before he patted his back.

"You fucked up, man," he began, averting his gaze. "Now you've gotta fix it."

"But how?"

"For fucks sake, Rooster," he groaned. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, musing it from the stress of his friend. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought Rooster might actually be a pretty smart guy. This dude was dumber than a box of rocks, and this just proved it.

"They still love you, you know," Bob said, arms crossed over his chest. "We heard what they said, but they're just hurt. You really did a number on them."

He glanced over his shoulder. The Dagger Squad stood there, all watching him as he stood there, in the middle of the parking lot.

This… was all his fault.

Those four simple words should have never left his mouth. He should have been spending the last three years with you, not trying to forget you. Because if he were to have died in that time, it would have at least been with you and not with the overwhelming ghost of you haunting his every waking move. He could have at least left you behind knowing you were loved instead of wondering if he ever truly loved you at all.

Time passed slowly in the month it took you to finally calm down from the emotional rollercoaster Rooster had you on. You were back in your apartment, the east coast calling your name (even though the west coast screamed for your return; the sandy beaches and the salty water just weren’t the same, here).

Your heart ached—every romantic thing you saw made you want to cry. It all reminded you of your ex-husband, and now, there was no changing things. In your anger, you had told him you never wanted to see him again—that you didn't love him. You made sure he knew that when you left him standing in the middle of that damned parking lot.

What a lie that was.

But if he could tell lies, why couldn't you? Why couldn't you force him to live with the idea that you didn't love him, just the way he did that to you?

Regret became you.

You wondered if that’s how he felt all this time—regretful.

Did Rooster even have a bone in his body that was capable of feeling anything other than pride?

Maverick would know.

Did he know about all of this? He had been Rooster’s best man at the wedding. Surely, he knew something.

Your arm rested over your eyes, blocking out the sunlight that peaked through your curtains. Saturday mornings never got easier for you. Hell, no morning did. Getting up was a constant chore. You had already gotten ready for the morning, but you slipped right back into bed, not wanting to deal with the idea of being a live, somewhat functioning adult at the moment.

Your phone began to ring, loud and in your ear as you lay in bed, staring at the back of your arm. With a groan, you rolled over and picked it up.

Phoenix was calling you.

You answered after a moment of your fingers hovering over the bright buttons. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? Hey! So, uh, quick thing, and I promise you I didn't know about it until Bagman just said something, but he gave Rooster your address."

Silence enveloped your bedroom as you processed what she had just said.

"What?!" You immediately sat up in your bed, gripping your phone with unforgiving strength. "What the hell!"

"I know," she continued, voice laced with worry—she didn’t know how you were going to take this. "I know, and I'm sorry. But, uh, he said that Rooster is probably gonna show up within the next hour or so. He caught the earliest flight out there."

"Why?"

"Why?" Natasha echoed. "Y/n, why do you think?"

You fell silent. You stared down at the blankets that pooled at your feet.

Day after day, you wondered if Rooster would show up, begging you to take him back. But the sun continued to set, day in and day out, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.

"Y/n, I know he's an asshole,” Natasha said. “I know he broke your heart. But… Rooster's been through a lot. He might not have realized how bad of an idea it was until he went through with it. He’s… he’s done nothing but regret it ever since.”

"I know he's been through a lot," you said, voice far quieter than it had been. "I know he has. But… but that's no excuse. We were married. I was his partner. He took that away… he took that all away.”

"There's no excuse for him," Phoenix said. "I’m not making one. You’re… you’re my very best friend. But if he shows up and you don't know what to do, you have two options. Turn him away, or… hear him out. Whatever you do, I’m here one hundred percent of the way.”

You swallowed thickly. Without saying anything else, you hung up the phone, tossing it onto your bed. You buried your face in your hands—it seemed to be the only thing you could do recently that would actually allow you to catch your breath.

And then, your doorbell rang.

That was far less than an hour.

The shrill ding of the bell resounded in your brain. You would have to get that changed to something less annoying.

Getting out of your bed and walking down the hallway was the easy part. It was opening the front door that made you want to die as your hand slowly grabbed onto the knob.

You can just turn him away. It'll be okay, you told yourself. He will leave if you want him to.

With much hesitation, you opened the door.

Rooster stood there, worried he had gotten the wrong door and Hangman had given him some shit directions. But as you appeared in the doorway, relief spread across his features. He was dressed in those same shoes you had given him. He wore a pair of jeans, and he wore one of those stupid Hawaiian shirts that he loved so much.

You still had the pink and yellow one you had stolen before you left him in the top left drawer of your dresser. It still smelled like Rooster… but the laundry detergent you had was the same exact one you had used when you were married to him.

Everything you owned reminded you of him.

"Y/n?"

"Bradley."

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. He nervously wrung his hands together as his eyes looked anywhere but you. This wasn’t that confident, macho man you knew. This wasn’t Rooster.

This was Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh.

His heart was on the line, and he could only hope that the universe would grant him one last wish—let you believe him. Let you understand him.

He would understand if you turned him away. He would leave, and he would never bother you again. But he hoped that you’d accept him for who he is—for everything he has been.

Again.

Even though it took him so long to realize his mistake. Even though he made so many mistakes just to find himself trying to take it all back.

Rooster never thought he was perfect, but hell. The universe really didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, did it?

"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to see me," he began. "But I can't… I can't keep doing this."

You stayed silent.

Bradley was a lot of things. Stupid, funny, a great, flaming ball of firey anxiety. And still, the love of your life, even now.

Nothing would ever stop that from happening, even if he shoved his hand in your chest, pulled out your heart, and crushed it right in front of you.

Even now, after all this time, you knew you loved him.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue.

"I love you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never stopped. I just… fucked up. God, Y/n, I fucked up so bad. I never should have asked you for a divorce. I never should have said any of that shit. I thought I was protecting you. But the only thing I ended up doing was hurting you more, and I never wanted that to happen.

"I love you, so much, Y/n. I never stopped. I… you are the love of my life. But… but even if I loved you, it wouldn't stop life from standing in the way. My dad died. He left my mom all alone. I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering, all alone, wondering what the hell you could have done to make things different. I couldn't let you have the same fate as my mom."

You stared at him, hands gripping the door.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

"I… I know I should have."

"So why didn't you?"

"I had already made up my mind…"

And once Bradley Bradshaw made up his mind, that was that. Most of the time, anyway.

Silence enveloped the two of you once more. Birds chirped in the background, cars honking in the backed-up traffic on the interstate not too far from your home. Life was still going on, just like it always would. Life would continue to find a way, even if someone left it behind—even if someone felt as if their world was crashing to an end.

Three years ago, if Bradley Bradshaw had shown up at your door, telling you he had made a mistake, you would have believed him. But watching him as he stood at your door this very moment, you weren't sure. You had every right to slam the door in his face, burning the image of his scared self in the back of your mind. But as you stood here, hands dangling down by your thighs, you knew you couldn't.

Were you stupid for what you were about to do?

Maybe.

But so was Bradley.

"I've started seeing a therapist," Bradley spoke, breaking the silence. "He said it would be good for me to at least… try to tell you why."

"Why you left me?"

He gave a small nod. "Yes. And… he made me realize it never should have happened. It was my fault. It was never yours."

You rubbed your eyes out of frustration, unable to stop yourself from sniffling. A groan escaped you, and he frowned in response.

"Y/n, I… words can't even begin to describe how sorry I am. I can't take back what I said. I can't change the fact that I asked you for a divorce because I was terrified of dying and leaving you alone. But… but I can do this," he said, licking his lips as he watched you.

You tilted your head in confusion, not sure where he was going with this.

Time moved slowly—just as slowly as it had when your world came to a startling halt.

He suddenly held out his hand, locking eyes with you once more. Dark brown eyes peered into yours; those same brown eyes you used to watch until you fell asleep in his arms. Those same brown eyes you stared into when you first said, “I do.” Those same brown eyes you looked into when he asked you for a divorce.

"Hi," the man said, a small smile appearing on his mustache-clad lips. "I'm Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw."

Your eyes widened, your heart leaping to your chest once more, but not because you were scared to face him. But because you couldn't believe this was really happening.

He… was starting over.

You were starting over.

Hesitantly, you took his hand, firmly grasping it before you shook it.

"It's so nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw," you said. Your eyes were still red from your tears, but you began to smile, pushing down the pain and regret of the last three years. It wasn’t worth it. The utter buffoon standing in front of you was worth it. "I'm Y/n Bradshaw," you continued with a grin. "Quite a coincidence, huh?"

Bradley just smiled, tilting his head to the side. You had never changed your name. In fact, you stayed the same, despite the icy shield around your heart. Not that he could blame you.

You were his Y/n. The love of his life—the reason he continued on, and the reason he believed in love, despite the fear that sucked the rational thinking out of him.

Because even when death knocked at his door, he knew you would be there. You would be there, just like his mom was for his dad.

Nothing could change that.

Not the divorce, not his lie that lasted for years. Not the untimely “confession” that left the two of you reeling for each other.

Nothing could change how he felt for you.

And with one instant, you knew your world was mending itself. You'd have problems—that you were sure. You’d have to work on communication; on both sides. But as you moved out of the way for Rooster to come in, you knew it would be worth it.

Love, no matter how much it hurt, was worth it.

Good enough or not.

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Bradshaw? I think we have a lot to catch up on."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, taking ahold of your hand.

"Only if you'll have me."

"Of course, I will."

This was a start. A new start.

A good start.

You were both starting over. And although you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, a part of you was starting to realize that you may have always been good enough—sometimes, fear was stronger than anyone’s resolve. Fear could make even the bravest people pause; it could cause stupid decisions and brash opinions that change everything a person knows. Minds were a powerful tool that could hurt everyone in its path.

You lived it.

You were still living it.

But like any great thing, sometimes starting over is the best way to go. Sometimes, opening your heart back up is the only thing you can do to move on.

Those same brown eyes you fell in love with peered down at yours, and for once in the past three years, you finally felt at peace. You were good enough. You always had been.

And Bradley Bradshaw was a good man. A great man, even. But even great men can fall short. Even great men can make mistakes. It takes an even greater person to face those mistakes head-on, and an equally great person to forgive and continue on loving, even if they never stopped, to begin with.

[probablyasocialecologist]

“The rise of plantation capital spawned the drying of the west side of Maui,” said Kamana Beamer, a historian and a former member of the Hawaii commission on water resource management, which is charged with protecting and regulating water resources. “You can see the link between extractive, unfettered capitalism at the expense of our natural resources and the ecosystem.” Drawn to Hawaii’s temperate climate and prodigious rainfall, sugar and pineapple white magnates began arriving on the islands in the early 1800s. For much of the next two centuries, Maui-based plantation owners like Alexander & Baldwin and Maui Land & Pineapple Company reaped enormous fortunes, uprooting native trees and extracting billions of gallons of water from streams to grow their thirsty crops. (Annual sugar cane production averaged 1m tons until the mid-1980s; a pound of sugar requires 2,000lb of freshwater to produce.) Invasive plants that were introduced as livestock forage, like guinea grass, now cover a quarter of Hawaii’s surface area. The extensive use of pesticides on Maui’s pineapple fields poisoned nearby water wells. The dawn of large-scale agriculture dramatically changed land practices in Maui, where natural resources no longer served as a mode of food production or a habitat for birds but a means of generating fast cash, said Lucienne de Naie, an east Maui historian and chair of the Sierra Club Maui group. “The land was turned from this fertile plain – with these big healthy trees, wetland taros and dryland crops like banana and breadfruit – to a mass of monoculture: to rows and rows of sugar cane, and rows and rows of pineapple,” she said.

[...]

In Hawaii, water is held in a public trust controlled by the government for the people. But on Maui, 16 of the top 20 water users are resorts, time-shares and short-term condominium rentals equipped with emerald golf courses and glittering pools, according to a 2020 report from the county’s board of water supply. The 40-acre Grand Wailea resort, the island’s largest water consumer, devoured half a million gallons of water daily – the amount needed to supply more than 1,400 single-family homes.

[gatheringbones]

[“Per Kern’s research in Feminist City, new, luxury condominiums, which are significant purveyors of gentrification, capitalize on urban racism to advertise particularly to young adult women by emphasizing their extensive security measures that safekeep women from external, street-based violence. But Kern notes this dynamic “wasn’t going to make life any safer for the women who would be displaced by this form of gentrification,” and it served to make “safety a private commodity in the city . . . less and less available to those who lack the economic means to secure themselves.” In contrast, funding for affordable housing, or social housing, is increasingly and routinely being gutted, in many cases robbing domestic violence victims of what could be their only means for safety and independence from abusers. Further, the capitalist housing market is fundamentally unconducive to multifamily or cooperative housing setups that can provide safety and supports like child care and community, and alleviate the gendered norms and divisions of labor that standardize the oppressions of women and non-cis, straight men in single-family homes. Options for communities, multigenerational households, and non-single families to live together, in general, are dwindling in a market saturated with increasingly expensive single-family homes, as well as ever-increasing incentives for ambitious Airbnb hosts to purchase homes solely to rent out to wealthy travelers.”]

kylie cheung, from survivor injustice: state-sanctioned abuse, domestic violence, and the fight for bodily autonomy, 2023

[fanatical4creation]

🌈The world of✨️

✨️Dreamfate🌈

Is time to answer one of my favorite questions when it comes to writing a show; WHERE?!?!?

Where does the characters live, where do they go to rest and sleep and yadda yadda yadda, y'know what, while doing this i've discovered i actually like drawing backgrounds, it's hard but seeing the result is so fun.

This is the Happy vile or Happy Condominium, i haven't come up with a good name yet, i'm not that good at names, so let's say the sign is just temporally until i actually come up with a good name, anyway...

This is the map, i'm not an architect so it looks horrible lol, that big place with studios are the studio from dreamtale, they make programs to a TV channel i haven't thought of a name yet, it's made for brain washing people, that's Hope's whole thing;

Entertainment programs, films, series, short films, newspapers and all types of media to attract all types of people to Dreamtale to get their happily ever after.

I would add some more things, but i don't actually know what to add bc, as i said, i'm not an fucking architect.

About the main building, i loved how it turned out, the main idea was that each floor would be a color, and i didn't know how the colors would work and i'm happy that i figured it out. With the main color being yellow bc yellow means mainly Hopeful, while the others are the AUs he affected.

Yes, Murder Dust being the yellow color at the same time as Hopeful does means something (Do you like the name i came up with? Murder Dust? Like- like pinkie pi-).

Oh yeah the tiny red circles are suppose to represent how big people would look, y'know for proportions.

Map of Dreamtale:

Every city comes from the tree that inhabits it. Well the rest is what you see, the only thing i would add is the outside of the circle, there would be farms and camps, people who just don't like the big medieval city, by the way, i have no idea if there were trains in the medieval era, but i don't care, trains are cool af.

Dreamtale isn't naturally yellow based, the colors would vary through the colors of The main Elements, y'know, Life, Death, Magic and Feelings, but since Hopeful overflowed everything's Yellow due to his aura, It got bigger and bigger as the positivity in people increased

Yes, i'm aware it looks like an fidget spinner.

Thank you if you read that, you must be very interested if you did... but i mean, VERY interested, i would not read all of that shit for nothing.

Unrelated note: I don't know if it is mother's day today bc i'm not from usa, in my country mother's day was yesterday, so, if it is actually mother's day in usa................ ignore it..

Dreamtale (c) JokuBlog

[flameswallower]

Briar's Favorite First Time Reads of 2023!

I read sixty or so books (start to finish) for the first time this year, which is pretty average for me. I liked most of them pretty well, since if I dislike a book I usually won't finish it. But there were some stand outs, which I'm going to list here.

First up: NOVELS!

Pseudotooth, by Verity Holloway (2017) is the first portal fantasy coming of age novel I've read in a long, long time that I found genuinely charming. It has a very dark Gothic edge to it, with shades of Gormenghast and Edward Gorey making for a uniquely unsettling and bleak fantasy world. The novel also deals frankly and seriously with themes of ableism, eugenics, medical abuse, xenophobia, socio-economic class, rape/sexual abuse, and the psychic fallout of rape/sexual abuse. But it's got a lot of whimsical absurdist humor to it, too, and a deep humanist compassion for its characters. The three young adults at the center of the story are all quite likeable, and though they are involved in a kind of love triangle, I found the particulars of it refreshingly queer, strange, and not the primary focus of the story.

The Marigold, by Andrew F. Sullivan (2023) is a pitch-dark, stone cold bummer that is also frequently hilarious and emotionally moving in tender ways that took me by surprise. In this dystopian satire, a bunch of down-and-out relatable characters and one horrible rich guy struggle to survive as near-future Toronto is engulfed by "the Wet"-- a sapient mold-based hive mind accidentally created by the depravity and greed of big business. The residents of the titular condominium/apartment complex feature in short vignettes that demonstrate the despair and alienation people suffer under late stage capitalism, and the way the Wet calls to these people, lures them in, hunts them.

The Open Curtain, by Brian Evenson (2006) is a harrowing nightmare about madness, violence, possession, Mormonism, and the destabilization of one's known reality (well, see also "madness"). It's a type of story that could easily feel shlocky and exploitative of people with certain mental disorders, or just predictable (there are some plot twists you'll guess very quickly if you've ever like...read books or seen movies before...), but Evenson's unornamented yet masterful prose, his meticulous attention to detail, and his non-condescending empathy for both victims of violence and people struggling with delusions, violent impulses, etc. make it rise above those potential problems. At least in my opinion! This one's very disturbing, will definitely leave you feeling like shit.

Hummingbird Salamander, by Jeff VanderMeer (2021) is very emotionally moving and a suspenseful, well-plotted eco-noir page turner! Also a bummer, but leaves one feeling awe and hope and determination as well as mourning the devastating loss of life that climate change has wrought. The protagonist is great, a truly unusual and unlikely detective. I loved her voice-- like any good noir hero, she can throw off a legitimately funny sarcastic quip with the best of them, but she's also prone to astute social observations and flights of breathtaking lyricism.

How to Get Over the End Of the World, by Hal Schrieve (2023) is a TRAGICALLY under-promoted and underrated punk rock magical realist YA masterpiece about trans high schoolers, and their dysfunctional adult mentors, putting on a rock opera to save their community center. This one, unlike most of what I read, is NOT EVEN KIND OF A BUMMER. It's delightful and hilarious from start to finish, though it's definitely not saccharine-sweet or afraid of conflict. In fact, it deals quite bluntly and refreshingly with topics ranging from the relationship one character has with his violent, abusive father, to sexual relationships between teenagers, to the ever-looming awareness of climate change. Every major character is trans! Every single one!! This is kind of a spoiler, but, like, not really lol

Sudden Glory, by Hal Johnson (2023) just goes to show that guys named Hal can really write comic novels. This book has perhaps the highest joke-to-paragraph ratio of anything I’ve ever read, and also probably the most varied types of joke: a person whose sense of humor runs to preposterous situation comedy, slapstick, and lowbrow sexual humor will find a lot to like here, and so will someone whose sense of humor runs to moderately esoteric literary/historical references, social satire, five-layer wordplay, and Wildean bon mots. Since it’s set in the New York City of 2003, there’s even room for a few 9/11 jokes, which could not have appeared without controversy in a book actually published in 2003. This slightly "politically incorrect" edge comes off as good-natured and in keeping with Johnson's commitment to absurdism-- there's never a "laughing at" vibe, more one of "laughing with" human folly, futility, pretensions, etc. At base, this is a story about a person who feels he can't tell the truth or be himself for fear of social rejection, and all the trouble that gets him into.

Piranesi, by Susanna Clarke (2020) is fucking gorgeous, probably one of my favorite books of all time now, this hole was made for me, etc. I can't reasonably expect that most others will have as intense a response to it as I did-- I felt it perfectly conveyed some very important and difficult to articulate things about, like, my personal experience of consciousness, and my experience as a person with certain types of neurological/cognitive/developmental disability navigating the world, through a kind of fabulist prism. But it got great reviews, so, you know, give it a shot! I think it's better not to know anything about it going in, but let me just say, if you're into weird, massive labyrinthine buildings, this hole might also have been made for you.

Devil House, by John Darnielle (2022) is exactly the novel you'd expect "the Mountain Goats guy" to write, in all the best possible ways. It's a story that elevates the inner lives of neurodivergent outsider teens to the mythic heights they deserve. It's a story that brutally critiques the true crime industry. It's a story about the problems of defining people exclusively by their victimhood, or exclusively by the worst thing they ever did. It's a story about the importance of having a little space to oneself, a shelter from the demands and threats of an often cruel world, and the lengths to which a person will go to defend such a shelter if it's broached. Also, there's a long, nauseating section about how it's actually really difficult and gross to chop up a human corpse for disposal.

[seat-safety-switch]

When I took my first, tentative steps into adult life, leaving behind the quasi-government-appointed not-relative who had taken care of me when my aspiring-circus-performer parents found a travelling gig that they refused to give up, I moved into a teeny-tiny condominium. Such a construct is not uncommon in today’s rush-rush society, where we spend more conscious time at work than we do at home. I simply didn’t need a big house, and besides, it brought some aspects of community and shared struggle. Namely, I realized the first time I showed up and saw two greasy-looking guys in the parking lot hauling a 2-litre engine out of a Jetta, there might be an engine crane I can borrow.

Of course, it didn’t work out that way. Back then, I was still convinced that a full-time job was the way to keep a roof over my head and food in my stomach. Before the squatting and shoplifting. Before the real heaps. So I was at work all the time, filing reports, knowing how to operate PowerPoint, and trying desperately to climb up the ladder fast enough that I wouldn’t be consumed by the dark fires of lifestyle creep and endless debt. The Jetta guys moved on, or they were evicted, or they went to prison, and they took their engine crane with them.

All this is probably for the best. I think sometimes about the alternate path that my life would have taken if I had hung out with Volkswagen owners, instead of the rag-tag pile of beatniks that I did eventually find on my third complete stress-related mental breakdown. I’d probably be working at some bank on Wall Street now, pinstripe suit, hair cut, doing rails of coke at my desk between arbitrage deals. And I’d be driving something like a base-model Passat that I could barely afford. Is that other me happy? Probably, because he would likely also have a garage full of 1970s through modern-era German trashmobiles to fiddle with.

One day, I’ll find someone who is willing to lend me an engine crane, too. For now, I’ve been using a complicated block-and-tackle arrangement known as “drive it up on a Jersey barrier and sawzall the only good part of the car out onto a skateboard.” They don’t build skateboards like they used to, I can tell you that much.

[brehaaorgana]

Wargh apartments hunting is harddddd.

Round two, MORE SPECIFICS

$1595/mo studio all utilities included, has gym, new building, has washer/dryer. Street parking (wait listed parking is like $175 a month). Elevator building.

$1550/mo. Studio - Includes utilities except internet/cable - same as above. May not have dishwasher?

$1325 or $1350 mo/1 bedroom no washer dryer. No gym. 1930's building with charm/details. Does not include electric. Includes heat/hot water. Elevator building.

$1330-$1350, 1 bedroom, parquet floors (also historic?), has gym, dishwasher/microwave is select units, no in-unit washer/dryer. Built in shelving. Elevator building. No idea the garage fee so assume street parking.

$1450 1 bedroom. says washer/dryer but also "laundry facilities" soooo?? Cute bathrooms. Multi-wall unit a/c. Formal dining room. Rooftop patio. Unknown garage fee. (Unknown utilities?) I assume elevator building based on height lol.

$1595 top (3rd) floor of a Victorian mansion (former condominiums now apartments), has washer/dryer, lots of light/windows & fun ceilings. Has a parking lot which is $75/mo otherwise street parking. Includes water/sewage, heat is electric and on me. No gym.

$1545 bottom floor of the Victorian mansion, has a small patio and sliding glass doors. No washer dryer. No dishwasher(?)

X___x

[messinwitheddie]

Hoola what’s it like living with Lyric nd his family during your retirement? Learn anything knew?

Hoola "I was reluctant to move to urth at first, but Lyr begged me to move in with him and his mothers. I didn't have the heart or a valid enough excuse to refuse.

Life on Earth is a culture shock, I'm not going to lie. I still struggle to understand Lyric and most other humans in his "family". I used to criticize Zim for how little about human culture he understands, but having lived here, amongst you people, I get it wholeheartedly. Every day is a learning experience.

Apparently, there are several dialects of the "English" language. Half of Lyr's family speaks "American" English and the other half speaks "Australian" English and both rely on 60% idisims that escape the translating capabilities of my PAK. Just develope a universal Urth language and stick with it. Be more back-asswards, humanity! Sorry, sorry. That's insensitive, but it's... true. There are SO many languages and dialects for each language and idisims and slang for each language in each "country" within each region on each content, it's so hard for me to follow. Good Glord and her whole army, I'm trying. I'm really REALLY trying, but it's no use. Despite my higher educational training, I sound stupid when I speak in human languages.

I rarely leave the high end condominium or the city of Sydney Lyric and their mothers live in generaly, but when I do, I HAVE to to have one of my human roommates with me or I get completely lost. On Irk, in the areas underground and on the surface, the map is based on an easy to navigate, clearly numerically labeled grid. Same goes for Conventia, the Massive, Producia, Foodcourtia, Conventia, Devastis and 99.9% of the rest of the rken empire. Not so much on Earth... A lot of untamed forrests and rural areas. A lot of primitive cities in th upper- Americas, Europe, Australia and probably on the other continents too, but I haven't travelved to them yet. Lyr's co-mother, Gaz, is excited to take me to the "country" of Mexico in South America this summer. I hear the food is great, so I'm looking forward to the trip.

Maybe I should have stayed with Mad Madem Mem on her rogue planet. Her hive needed an experienced medic, but I've served the Irken Empire for SOOOooo many centuries. I REALLY needed a decade or so of low-pressure relaxation before my expiration timer clocks out. Lyr's uncle Dib keeps in regular contact with Zim and Mem, so if I am needed, I will gladly go back."

All-in-all, I am enjoying my stay... Hoop would have loved Earth, I know it. In a strange way, Lyr reminds me of him... There is something intriguing about human family clusters. Maybe Lyr is the smeet fate and biology denied Hoop and I... I'm grateful I can live the rest of my life with people who care about me and who went out of their way to include me in their family cluster. Their loyalty and love is incomparable even through a thick layer of dysfunction and human flaws. It took me a while, but I understand why Zim became so attatched to these monkeys.